Her heart stopped. Could it be?
"Ben?" she managed, at last.
All four heads jerked up to look for the source of the voice.
"Suzanne, is that you?" Ben's beloved voice cried.
Joy flooded her whole being. He was here. He was. She pushed the shutter wide and leaned out so that he could see her. In a moment, he was grinning up at her. He looked quite wonderful. He had promised to come back for her and now he was here. And it seemed he had brought a private army, too.
She sagged on to the window sill, as relief overwhelmed her and sapped the strength from her legs. But her inner voice was urging her to sing at the top of her voice and to dance round the room. Her husband, her darling Ben, had returned to rescue them all.
One of the unknown dark-haired men bowed up to Suzanne and said, with the utmost courtesy, "Good evening, ma'am. We apologise for arriving unannounced, and at such a late hour, but we have brought you your husband. He is very keen to see you. Might we come in?"
Suzanne was so struck by his bizarre politeness that she began to laugh and laugh. Ben was here. Lord Jack, too. And the two other dark-haired gentlemen must be Lord Jack's brothers. It was the miracle she had been praying for. Ben was here. And everyone would be safe at last.
"Suzanne, do stop giggling and open the door. We're getting very thirsty out here." When nothing happened, Ben gave the door another couple of hefty thumps. "Are you in there, Guillaume? Open the door, there's a good fellow. Your mistress seems incapable of descending the stairs."
Suzanne managed to control herself enough to go out on to the landing and call down to the old servant, "You may open the door, Guillaume. It is my husband. And Marguerite's, too. We have nothing to fear any more."
A moment later, she heard the bolts being drawn back, and booted feet in the passageway. She flung herself down the stairs and into her husband's arms.
Suzanne was losing herself in his kiss, melting into his beloved body. It was as if their souls were beginning to join.
Ben threaded his fingers into her hair and began to deepen the kiss even more. Suzanne responded eagerly. Often and often during these past lonely weeks, she had dreamed of how it would be when he returned, but this was so much more. This was no fleeting fantasy. This was vibrant, breathing reality. Oh, it was heaven.
A cough shattered the silence. A very deliberate cough.
"Oh." Suzanne broke away from Ben. What on earth had they been thinking of? Kissing—kissing passionately, too—in a hallway full of people? A wave of heat engulfed her. She knew she must be bright scarlet with embarrassment.
She hardly dared to raise her eyes. But then someone took her hand and lifted it to his lips. It was not Ben. She knew it was not his touch.
"Lady Dexter, your servant." It was Lord Jack. He straightened and let go of her hand. When she looked up at him, she saw that there was a very mischievous glint in his eye, even though he was trying hard to look serious. "Or perhaps I may call you by name, as we are brother and sister now?"
"What? Oh. Oh yes, of course," she stammered. For it was true. Lord Jack Aikenhead—Jack, now—was her brother, married to her sister. "Marguerite…?" she began uncertainly.
"Marguerite is well, never fear. She sends her fondest love, to you and to your mama. She also bade me bring you to England with all speed. All of you," he added, looking round to find Guillaume. The servant was standing among the fire buckets, with one pistol loose in his hand and another tucked into his belt. On his face there was an expression of bewilderment as he gazed first at one, then another of these imposing newcomers. Suzanne saw at a glance that Jack's older brothers were men to be reckoned with, even though they were waiting quietly in the shadows by the door, allowing the men she knew to take the lead.
Jack grinned across at the old servant. "I fancy I owe you an apology, Guillaume," he said airily. "For deceiving you."
The old man muttered something inaudible.
Ben stepped between them and grasped Guillaume's hand. He shook it vigorously. "I owe you more than I can ever repay, Guillaume." He gestured towards the pistols. "You have kept the ladies safe, when I could not. Thank you."
"Only doing my duty, sir," Guillaume said gruffly. "My lord, I should say." He tucked the second pistol into his belt. "I have served madame since before she was a bride. I will always serve her family."
Ben smiled and clapped the man on the shoulder. "And the family will always need you, and value you," he said solemnly. "Just at this moment, we need you to prepare for departure. At first light tomorrow."
"But we cannot—" Suzanne began, shocked. Did he expect her to abandon everything they had built here? Surely not? Besides, it would take time to convince Mama of the need to leave her home.
"Hush, love. We must." Ben took her hand and drew her to him. "Dominic will explain. Dominic?"
"Lady Dexter." The Duke of Calder stepped out of the shadow. He was almost the image of Lord Jack. Almost, but not quite. They had the same features, and the same black hair and deep blue eyes, but the duke was taller, and broader in the shoulder than Jack. And the duke was clearly a man used to command. He bowed to Suzanne. "Calder, at your service, ma'am." He waved the fourth man forward. "Before we discuss plans, may I present my next brother, Leo?"
Lord Leo did not share his brothers' dramatically dark colouring, and yet, to Suzanne, he instantly seemed far more compelling than either of them. Leo had dallied with many a woman's heart, Ben said. Now that Suzanne had met him, she understood. He had that indefinable allure that would draw every female eye. The woman who had tamed such a rake must be very special indeed.
Lord Leo bowed, very elegantly. "Servant, Lady Dexter."
Suzanne curtseyed as best she could, since Ben was still holding her close.
The duke smoothly took charge. "The truth is, Lady Dexter, that Lyons is not safe for any of us. If the men of Lyons discover they have English invaders in their midst, we may have a battle on our hands. We have brought men with us, but not nearly enough to withstand an army of angry locals. Not without bloodshed."
When Suzanne did not respond immediately, he frowned and spoke more sharply. "We are here solely to protect you and your household. Not to start a new war. By far our best strategy is to leave before the potential opposition learns what we are about. You do see that, do you not?"
Suzanne felt the pressure of Ben's fingers on hers. Clearly, he wanted her to agree to the duke's proposal. And she could see that it was all eminently sensible. But it gave her no time to think, to reconcile herself to the loss of everything she knew. She put her hand to her mouth and screwed her eyes shut. She said the first thing that occurred to her. "I do not think Mama will wish to go."
To her surprise, Lord Jack laughed. "Have no worries on that score, sister. Leave it to Dominic."
It was decided. They were to leave at dawn, as Ben had said. They had time—just—to pack for the journey, but they must travel light. And there was much else to be done, so there was no time to be wasted in talking. Or worrying.
One of the wagons was needed for the duke's little army of stalwarts, with their weapons. Willing hands quickly loaded the second wagon with the stock of Grolier silk and a few of the family's personal possessions—small roped boxes for Suzanne and the servants, and a larger trunk for the marquise who might be upset if forced to part with any of the vast array of mementos that surrounded her every day.
Suzanne scurried upstairs to pack a box for Marguerite, too. Her sister would not need the clothes she had left behind, but there were favourite books, and trinkets, and other treasures that she would not want to lose.
Jack was before her. There was an empty valise on Marguerite's bed. And Jack had been running his hands through his hair again. "Suzanne. Thank goodness." He waved a piece of paper in the air. "Marguerite gave me a list of things to collect for her, but I can't find half of them."
Suzanne chuckled. "No, I dare say you can't. Why not let me do it?" She whisked the paper out of his f
ingers and glanced down her sister's list. "Yes, I can find all of these. Leave it to me."
"Bless you, sister," he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.
"Unhand my wife, my lord, or I shall have to call you out."
Suzanne whirled round. Ben was standing in the doorway, grinning evilly at them both. He was clearly enjoying himself, the wretch. Did these men take nothing seriously? Even when all their lives were in danger?
"Oh, go away, do," Suzanne said impatiently, flapping a hand a him. "Have you nothing better to do than disturb others at their work? We have to leave in a few hours, and Mama is still—"
Ben stopped her with a raised hand. "Madam wife," he began pompously, "it is time you learned to have faith in the Aikenhead Honours. Jack told you, did he not, that Dominic would resolve everything? And so he has. Your mama will be ready to travel in the morning. Indeed, she is eager to be off."
"What? But how?"
Ben grinned. "Dominic is a great planner, as you will discover. He made us tell him all about the marquise and her…er…difficulties. And he worked out a solution. He brought one of his grand ducal carriages across to France with us. He invited your mama to travel in style, escorted by her family and servants, and with a duke's crest on the door. She was perfectly content to accept. She sees it as a return to the proper deference she received in her youth. Apparently, she believes it is no more than her due to be escorted by one of England's foremost dukes."
Jack shook his head, grinning. "So it did work. I wasn't sure it would. Trust Dominic to find a way. He could always out-think all the rest of us."
Suzanne was speechless. It was so simple. And yet so very clever.
"Once you have finished packing for Marguerite, love, I suggest you lie down on your bed for an hour or two." Ben nodded nonchalantly towards the now-empty silk store and Suzanne's bedchamber, beyond. "It is already late and tomorrow will be a very long day."
Suzanne was not deceived. Not in the least. The silk store held gloriously tempting memories, for both of them. Ben was deliberately reminding her of delights past, and delights to come. "As you say, husband," she replied demurely. "But surely you should rest, too?"
Behind her, Jack chortled. Then he made for the door, clapping Ben on the shoulder as he passed. "I think, old man, that I am decidedly de trop in this conversation." He clattered down the stairs, still laughing.
Chapter Twenty
Ben gazed down at his beautiful, sleeping wife. She was an amazing woman—courageous, and determined—a match for any man. She had worked so hard these last months and years to keep her little family together. There was nothing she would not tackle, for them, when it was necessary. Even if her life was at stake.
One of her hands was lying on the pillow by her cheek. It was not the hand of a noble lady, but of a working woman. The skin was red and chapped in places, and two of the fingernails were broken. No wonder, given all the chores she had had to do since he left, even when she was not weaving at her loom. Ben resolved that, as soon as he had her safely back in England, she would be waited on, hand and foot, like a pampered oriental princess. Suzanne's poor worn hands would soon be as smooth and white and soft as a great lady's should be.
All the better to stroke across a husband's naked skin.
That thought, once in his mind, would not be banished. The effect on his body was so arousing that he considered, for a moment, whether he should leave his wife to sleep alone. If he climbed into the bed beside her, as was his right, would he have the strength of will to leave her to sleep?
Sleep was what she must need. Desperately. It was probable that she had not slept soundly in all the weeks he had been gone, for she had all the cares of the household on her slender shoulders, and always that lurking uncertainty about whether her husband would live to return to her. Such terrible burdens for her to have borne alone.
He would slide into the bed beside her and take her into his arms, to hold her while she slept. She would sleep the sounder, he told himself, knowing that he was there to protect her. And he? He would simply hold her. Nothing more than that. There would be plenty of opportunities for lovemaking in the days and weeks to come, once he had her safe. They were man and wife. They had a lifetime together ahead of them.
He snuffed his candle and stripped off his clothes in the dark, listening all the while to the sound of her slow breathing. It did not change at all, not even when he lifted the edge of the bedcovers and slid in beside her. Her bed was warm and welcoming against his naked skin. He even thought he detected the faintest scent of summer herbs drifting across the pillow, beckoning him in to join his sleeping wife.
He put his hand to his own cheek. The rest of his body was on fire, but his hands were cold. If he touched her, he was bound to wake her and he must not do that. He tucked both his hands under his body in an effort to warm them. Then he lay quietly, mere inches from his wife's delectable body, and counted off the minutes until he could safely draw her into his arms.
"Mmm." Suzanne stirred in her sleep and rolled towards him while he was still counting. A moment later, she was snuggling into his warmth and slipping an arm around his middle.
He gasped. He could not help it. She was naked.
His sharp intake of breath must have been very loud in the silence, but it did not seem to wake her. Her breathing did not change. Her soft cheek was nestling into his shoulder and one bare breast was resting tantalisingly on his arm.
Such sweet torture.
She had gone to bed naked. For him. Waiting for him. There was no other possible explanation. And that thought was so very arousing. How on earth was he to keep to his resolve? His whole body was clamouring to wake her, to kiss her, to join her body fully with his.
He did nothing. He suffered agonies of frustration, but he forced himself to lie still. He owed it to his beloved wife not to disturb her rest.
He had promised himself he would hold her. Only that.
Roughened fingers began to dance delicately across his buttocks.
"I thought you were asleep," he managed finally. His throat had gone so dry he could barely make a sound. Those wicked stroking fingers….
"I was," she murmured, moving her head a fraction so that her breath was caressing his nipple. "But I promised myself I would wake up as soon as you were here with me. I knew I would. No matter how much you tried not to disturb me." She took his flesh between her teeth and bit down gently. When his only response was a strangled gasp, she began laughing softly, deep in her throat, and raised her head a little. "And you see, husband mine, that I am very much awake, as I intended."
"What I see—or rather, don't see, since I was stupid enough to snuff the candle—is a wonderfully wilful wife, who is possibly a witch. Cast your spells, my love. I have not the least desire to resist you."
He could feel her smiling against his skin. She said nothing, but in a moment she began kissing him. All of him. Slowly and very thoroughly, even down to his toes and the tips of his fingers. Soon every inch of his skin was tingling and alive, desperate to be selected for her next touch. Magical, indeed.
She made a little sound in her throat that might have been a chuckle. Or perhaps she was musing on her next target? Long seconds ticked by, while she neither moved nor touched.
It was too much. Ben groaned aloud. He could not help it. Soon, he would explode.
"Fie, my lord. Did you not tell me, but a moment ago, that you would not resist anything I wished to do?"
"I swear I am not resisting." His voice came out as a strangled croak. "Not. Not resist— Argh!" His control broke completely, the moment she took his erection in her hand and began to squeeze. He needed her desperately. It had to be now. But he had promised…
He put his hands to her waist and lifted her on top of him, settling her slowly until he was fully sheathed in her glorious body. She let out a long sigh of pleasure.
"Not resisting. Not. Need you, my love," he pleaded. "Can't wait much long—"
She bent forwa
rd, so that her hair was tickling the skin of his face and neck and shoulders, and silenced him with a long kiss. "Now," she said softly against his mouth, "I think it is time for some exploration of this new…er…" She wiggled her bottom a little. Then she began tightening her muscles around him. Once, and then again, harder. He groaned once more and she laughed, her whole body vibrating. That was more arousing than anything else she had done to him.
Her laughter faded as she caught the rhythm and began to move with him. Faster. Higher. Soon she was gasping for breath, as he was. And then they reached the crest and went over into fulfilment. Together.
"You should be sleeping, love," Ben said, not for the first time.
Suzanne snuggled closer into his embrace. This was where she wanted to be. And the feelings were too wonderful for sleep. "Mmm," she murmured, into his skin. "But I'm not."
He chuckled. "I wonder if our marriage will always be like this? I give orders and you…er…"
"Ignore them?" Suzanne finished. "It will depend on the orders, I imagine. I did promise to obey, so I suppose I really ought to do what you tell me. Some of the time, at least," she added, wickedly.
He laughed and kissed her soundly. "I am a very lucky man to have found you, my love. And I will try to ensure that my orders are…er…reasonable. Now that the war is over, we can be together, for I will not be leaving you for spying missions with the Aikenheads. We have been disbanded. With honour, I might add. My task now is to take on the management of the Hoarwithy estate and to make a life in England for my darling wife and—God willing—our children." He kissed her again. "It is a huge step for you, I know. A new life, in a strange country, and a new language, to boot, but you will have Marguerite to help you, as well as the dowager duchess. No regrets, I hope, love?"
Suzanne shook her head, deliberately letting her curls tickle his skin. She felt loved, and cherished. She was where she belonged. "No regrets," she said firmly. "My place is with you. By your side." She dropped a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "And in your bed." She ran the very tip of her tongue along his lower lip. Sleep was the last thing she wanted now. He needed to understand that.
His Silken Seduction: A brotherhood of spies in Napoleonic France (The Aikenhead Honours Book 4) Page 13
